


A Taste Of Home

by orphan_account



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 04:39:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9162376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Yuri's feeling a little homesick, but Otabek has just the cure.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a warm-up and I got a little carried away, but I find these two adorable and couldn't help myself!

“Again.”

Yuri clicks his tongue, but obeys. He’s here to learn, after all, as much as it annoys him at times. He glides back on the ice, returning to his starting position, arms held high in the air as he waits for his cue.

When the music starts, he moves, dancing across the ice like it’s second nature.

Well, for Yuri, it pretty much is. 

He’s been skating since he learned how to walk, and competing since his childhood. He’s had his ups and downs, his struggles and successes; hell, he’s won his fair share of gold medals, including being the youngest male skater to win the Grand Prix finale, but it’s been years since his victory, and every year the competition gets tougher. So he keeps moving, keeps training, keeps fighting to be one of the best.

That’s why he’s in Detroit. He’s been here three weeks now, and isn’t leaving anytime soon; he’s seen more of the ice than he has of the city itself, but that doesn’t bother him.

He could close his eyes, he knows the routine so well; Yuri sets himself up into each jump expertly, nailing his combinations with apparent ease. He hears commentary, somewhere in the distance - his coach, no doubt, but he’s not listening. On the ice, there’s nothing more than his feelings, and the ice. 

His focus is strong, and he finds himself in the second half of his skate faster than expected; he spins into a step sequence, mind attentive on the delicate movements of his body. 

Yuri exhales as he slides into the finale of his routine, the song winds down, coming to the finale. This is the first program Yuri’s ever designed on his own; it’s new, and difficult, but it’s his. 

He’s proud of that.

He’s breathing hard as his vision focuses in again around him - he sees the other skaters chatting and watching from the side of the rink, and his coach giving him the nod of approval. 

He finally gets the go-ahead from his coach, and skates over to the side of the rink, stepping off and grabbing his skate guards. He’s tired, all of his limbs ache from overuse, but it’s not just physically. 

He’s mentally, emotionally tired; he hasn’t been home to Russia in over a month now, and he misses it. It’s weird, really, how you don’t realize how much you enjoy being somewhere until you’re gone.

It certainly never seemed quite as important before, to know that he could always come to the rink and listen to Georgi’s woes about his latest ex-girlfriend. To spend the late afternoons with his grandfather, or even - although he would  _ never admit it _ \- getting to see Victor and Yuuri skate at the rink in the evenings.

Now that he’s gone, though, it’s those things that he thinks about, especially in the evenings, when he’s finished practice. He gets ready to go home at the rink, alone, putting away his things, and heading down to the rental he’s staying at. It’s close, thankfully, so he can just walk, and does so after putting on some clean clothes.

It’s been cold lately, and even that is reminiscent of home; Yuri doesn’t worry much about it, just pulling his scarf up over his chin to keep himself from the chill air. He considers stopping to grab something to eat when he gets home, but, he really doesn’t feel like having to talk to anyone right now, especially at a store where he  _ knows _ he’s supposed to be friendly, especially in this country. He’s probably got something at home that he can warm up - this country is full of easy-to-heat food, after all, and he’s probably got frozen something or other in his freezer.

As he reaches the building, he pulls out his phone to check for any new text messages. There’s a few, that he’s not really up to checking - Yuuri, who has probably sent him yet another cute picture of Makkachin and the new puppy, and one from some of the other skaters from the rink.

None from the one person he was hoping to get one from, but that’s okay. Otabek’s busy, and he knows it; he’s training hard too. They both are. Otabek’s back in Kazakhstan for his training, and although the whole long-distance thing is hard, they’re making it work. 

Yuri kicks the snow from his boots as he steps into the building; the rental apartment is on the second floor, and he opts to take the stairs. He feels around in his pocket for the keys, but as soon as he steps into the floor, a familiar scent floods his senses and a wave of nostalgia washes over him.

It smells like… pirozhki.

What?

He shakes his head - it’s gotta be a coincidence, something else fried, but it sure as hell smells good, and Yuri would really like nothing more right now than a hot, steaming, freshly-fried pirozhki, like his grandfather makes. 

Yuri unlocks the door to his apartment and steps in, still smelling that damn pirozhki. He unzips his coat and shrugs it off, moving to hang it on the coat hanger -

And there’s another coat there already.

Yuri freezes.

He extends a hand, fingers brushing up against the grey coat, the one with the familiar patch on the left sleeve, and hears shuffling in the kitchen. “Yuri?” He hears, and the familiar voice makes his throat go dry.

Words are hard, so he chooses instead to do what’s easy - act. He marches right into the kitchen, stomping his way through the hallway, until he stops dead in the kitchen.

“Otabek?”

It’s him, of course - Otabek. In his kitchen, looking just as good as he did when Yuri saw him last, a month and a half ago. He turns from where he’s facing the counter, expression caught between guilt and happiness. “Yuri, uh, I didn’t expect you until-”

But he’s honestly not listening; Yuri has gotten over his embarrassment over touching, at least in private, and just lets his body respond naturally, walking right over and wrapping his arms around Otabek in a hug. Otabek runs warm naturally, and it’s exactly what Yuri needs right now.

“Yuri?” His voice is soft, and calm. His movements are slow, but he lets his arms fall, wrapping around Yuri’s waist and holding him in close. 

Yuri inhales, and closes his eyes. He doesn’t move, just rubs his face against Otabek’s chest, until all the muscles in his body finally start to relax. “Yeah.” Yuri swallows, “Hi.”

At that, Otabek cracks a smile. “Hi.”

“I didn’t know you were coming,” Yuri says, and finally pulls himself back far enough to look up at Otabek’s face. Despite the years that have passed, Otabek is still a few inches taller than Yuri, and although that fact can rile him up some days, Yuri secretly likes it. “I thought that you still had a week of training.”

“That’s kind of the point of a surprise.” Otabek runs a hand through his hair, fingers catching on the blonde locks. “Your hair’s even longer now.”

Yuri nods, closing his eyes and leaning into the touch. His hair is well past his shoulders, now, and he likes it more than he’d once expected. “What do you think?”

“It suits you.” 

At long last, Otabek pulls away; Yuri isn’t particularly pleased by it, but then he remembers the first question that had popped into his head “Otabek, is that… what I think it is?” He points to the stove, and Otabek looks over at him with a guilty expression.

“Well,” Otabek rubs the back of his head sheepishly, “You told me you were missing home, so I… I asked your grandfather for his pirozhki recipe.”

“You  _ what?” _ Yuri isn’t sure if he wants to laugh or gape. “Wait, and he  _ gave _ it to you?” 

He laughs, “Yes, but he made me promise that I’d only ever make it for you.” He turns to the stove, where he’s got four freshly fried pirozhki cooling. “Although it’s not… I didn’t… Um, I’m not very… good at this.”

Yuri’s poking at the pirozhki, now; it looks a little overdone, and pretty messily thrown together, but he doesn’t even care. “Can I have one?”

Otabek looks serious, “You don’t have to, we can just order something-”

“Don’t,” Yuri  cuts him off quickly, “I want to.” He smiles, and Otabek looks relieved; he hands him a plate, before reaching into a bag on the counter and pulling out a six-pack of beer. 

“This seems to be what people drink here?” Otabek shrugs, “The person at the convenience store recommended it to me.” He goes to hand a can to Yuri, before freezing. “You’re old enough to drink here, right?”

Yuri laughs, really and truly, and nods. “Yeah, Beka, I am.” He takes the drink, presses a kiss to Otabek’s cheek, grabbing a pirozhki and sitting down at the table. He takes his first bite, and, damn; if he said it isn’t the best thing he’s ever tasted, he'd be lying.

Otabek laughs, sitting down at the table next to him. “Enjoy, Yuri.” 


End file.
